The Coming of Hoole

  “Where there are legends, there can be hope. Where there are legends, there can be dreams of knightly owls, from a kingdom called Ga’Hoole, who will rise each night into the blackness and perform noble deeds. Owls who speak no words but true ones. Owls whose only purpose is to right all wrongs, to make strong the weak, mend the broken, vanquish the proud, and make powerless those who abuse the frail. With hearts sublime, they take flight…”

  The Coming of Hoole

  GUARDIANS of GA’HOOLE

  Book Ten

  BY

  Kathryn Lasky

  New York Toronto London Auckland

  Sydney Mexico City New Delhi Hong Kong

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Title Page

  Kingdoms of S’yrthghar

  Kingdoms of N’yrthghar

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE The Tilt of Ice

  CHAPTER TWO A Shadow King

  CHAPTER THREE Theo’s Discovery

  CHAPTER FOUR The Encounter

  CHAPTER FIVE Yearning

  CHAPTER SIX A Gathering of Gadfeathers

  CHAPTER SEVEN A Deadly Plan

  CHAPTER EIGHT The Passion of Ygryk

  CHAPTER NINE Facts of Life

  CHAPTER TEN A Distressed Pygmy

  CHAPTER ELEVEN The Snow Rose Meets Elka

  CHAPTER TWELVE So Near But Yet So Far

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN “I Know You!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN “Mother!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN A Wolf Howls

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Hagsfiend of the Ice Narrows

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN A Seedling

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN At Last, the Beyond

  CHAPTER NINETEEN What Hoole Saw

  CHAPTER TWENTY Two Wolves Head North

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE On the Island of Dark Fowl

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Svenka’s Trek

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Into a Smee Hole

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR A Wolf Waits

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE The Scimitar and the Ember

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX The Ember Beckons

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN Into a New Night

  Epilogue

  THE GUARDIANS of GA’HOOLE

  OWLS and others from the GUARDIANS of GA’HOOLE SERIES

  A peek at THE GUARDIANS of GA’HOOLE Book Eleven: To Be a King

  Copyright

  Kingdoms of S’yrthghar

  Kingdoms of N’yrthghar

  Prologue

  Octavia, the pudgy, elderly, blind nest-maid snake, slithered out onto the branch outside her old master’s hollow. “Look. I might be blind, but I know that you’ve been out there all morning. Why aren’t you in your hollows sleeping?” She wagged her head at the three owls—Gylfie the tiny Elf Owl, Twilight the Great Gray, and Digger the Burrowing Owl. Together with Soren, a Barn Owl, they were known as “the Band,” and they had been waiting since dawn for Soren to emerge from Ezylryb’s hollow. Octavia coiled up as a Spotted Owl alighted on the branch. “Oh, and now Otulissa! What are you doing here?”

  “The same thing they are doing.” Otulissa tipped her head toward the Band. “Waiting for Soren to come out. He’s been in there reading for days now!”

  Suddenly, two owls stuck their heads out from the hollow. “What’s this all about?” It was Soren and his nephew, Coryn, the new king of the Great Ga’Hoole Tree.

  “It’s about us, Soren.” Otulissa stepped forward. It might appear that Otulissa was somewhat bold in her approach to the king and his closest advisor, and also somewhat lacking in the deference due Coryn, but he didn’t seem to mind. After all, Otulissa had known him before any of the others of the tree. It was she who had found him in the Beyond after he had fled from his evil mother, Nyra, and the Pure Ones. It was Otulissa who had taught him how to catch coals. It had taken him about one minute to master that skill. She had not taught him, however, how to retrieve the Ember of Hoole. He did that by sheer instinct.

  “What is it, Otulissa?” Coryn asked.

  “We want to hear the legends, too. We want to read them with you.”

  Gylfie turned to Digger and whispered, “I thought it was just going to be us? How did she horn in on it?”

  “You know Otulissa,” Digger said with resignation.

  “Look, Soren,” Otulissa continued, “I am the one responsible for teaching the legends and the cantos to the young’uns here at the tree. I am the ryb for Ga’Hoology, which includes the natural history of the tree and its owl history.”

  Soren looked at her. What she said made sense but it was really not for him to decide.

  Coryn now turned to his uncle. Since he first arrived at the tree a few moon cycles ago, he knew immediately that Soren would be more than an uncle to him. He needed Soren as his mentor and guide, as he assumed this new and often confounding role of king.

  “I think you should hear the legends, Otulissa…” Coryn looked at Soren once more and then nodded at the other three owls. “And you as well. It is only fitting. But let me warn you that there is strong stuff in these legends. There are truths that will make your gizzards quake.” He began to say more, but then hesitated. Let them find out for themselves, he thought. Let them find out the truth about my mother, Nyra. Then he continued briskly. “Come back at midnight.” Turning again to Soren, he said, “Would it be possible to end night flight early and begin reading the second legend then?”

  Soren blinked. The young’un was not used to being king. He need not ask such a question. He could decide the matter himself. Soren gave a barely perceptible nod. Coryn immediately sensed that it was his decision and yet he knew that the Band would always turn to Soren, who had been their leader for so long. Though he might be king, Coryn wanted to do nothing that could be judged as a lack of respect for Soren. Yet, at the same time, he himself must be king, must lead. It was a difficult line to fly. “Yes, we shall end early, and Soren will meet with you first to tell you what we learned in the first legend before we read the second.”

  And so just after midnight, the six owls gathered in the small, cramped, hidden chamber in the back of Ezylryb’s hollow, where three ancient books—secret books—of the legends of Ga’Hoole had been kept for countless years. Ezylryb only revealed their existence on his deathbed when he had insisted that the new young king read them with his uncle Soren. They watched in silence with quivering gizzards as Soren brought forth the second book, a worn and dusty old tome. He blew the dust off the mouse-leather cover and wiped it with his wing. The once-dim gold letters now seemed to gleam, like ancient stars whose light finally has reached the earth: THE LEGENDS OF GA’HOOLE. Beneath this in smaller letters were the words: THE COMING OF HOOLE.

  Soren opened the book, then looked up from the page. “Before I begin I should tell you that neither Coryn nor myself is sure who wrote this second volume of the legends.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Tilt of Ice

  In a distant icebound firthkin far up the Firth of Fangs as stars swirled in the longest night of the year, a lone Spotted Owl stood trembling on the frozen sea. She stood with scimitar raised, prepared to fight to the death. The owl was Siv, queen of the N’yrthghar. The ice scimitar was that of her dead mate, King H’rath. Facing her was Lord Arrin, her enemy. The ragged shadows of hagsfiends tore through the moon-blazed night above her. She had been brought to ground by them but she had escaped their dreadful fyngrot, the peculiar searing yellow light that streamed from their eyes. Over the vastness of time and despite their primitive brains these relic creatures had acquired strange powers, the powers of nachtmagen, a destructive evil magic. That Lord Arrin, a clan chieftain and one-time ally of King H’rath, had allied himself with these ghoulish birds was unthinkable. And yet it had happened.


  Siv was fully prepared to die. But if she had to die, she would die fighting. So with one wing crippled from her previous encounter with hagsfiends, she stood in a pool of moonlight with the raised scimitar. Lame and exhausted, she was threatening Lord Arrin!

  “You can’t be serious, milady,” Lord Arrin said.

  “I am deadly serious. Stand back.”

  “My dear.”

  “No ‘my dears.’”

  “All right, milady. Save yourself and save your young’un. Join us. You can be my consort, my queen, the queen of nachtmagen.”

  “I am already a queen. Queen of the N’yrthghar. I need no other court, no other kingdom.”

  Lord Arrin stepped forward on the ice and swept a ragged wing toward the half dozen hagsfiends who were now closing in on her from above. “But this is your court.”

  “Never.” And in her gizzard at that second, Siv knew that somewhere in this vast kingdom an egg was beginning to crack and a chick would soon hatch. And that chick was hers. A prince, the rightful heir of the N’yrthghar, was about to be born, and she would do all in her power to protect him from Lord Arrin and his hagsfiends who so desperately craved to possess him and the power that would be his.

  “I ask you again, milady. Has the egg hatched yet?”

  Siv remained silent.

  “Where is the egg right now?”

  Still only silence.

  The egg was with Grank, somewhere far from Siv, and though separated from it, she still felt a deep connection. Lord Arrin’s questions began to blur in her mind. She was in another place. Yes, the egg was hatching now, just as the night grew even darker. A shadow began to pass over the moon. She saw Lord Arrin wilf slightly and heard the harsh whispers of the hagsfiends. Their fyngrot was being swallowed by an immense shade. They hovered in flight and then alighted on the field of sea ice. Their huge wings hung like dark rags on the gleaming white.

  It is a magic greater than theirs, Siv thought, as the moon began to vanish and a thick darkness enveloped them. And yet not magic at all. They will never understand it. As the earth passed between the sun and the moon, an eclipse was beginning, and little by little the earth’s shadow bit slices from the moon. Within a matter of seconds there would be no moon. Just darkness, complete darkness, Siv thought, and that will be my chance. But would her badly mangled wing be strong enough to let her escape?

  At the exact moment of complete darkness when all had grown utterly quiet, there was an immense cracking noise, and then a roar.

  “The moon’s shell is breaking!” one hagsfiend screeched.

  Idiots! Siv thought.

  It was not the moon. It was the ice. Svenka’s massive polar-bear head poked up through it. All became topsy-turvy as the ice began to tilt, and water suddenly flooded over the jagged edges, swamping the sheet of ice.

  “Quick, Siv, on my back!” Svenka called.

  Siv quickly hopped onto her old friend’s back and nestled herself deep in the ruff of fur around her neck.

  As Svenka swam away, Siv peeked through the fur and saw one hagsfiend slide, shrieking, into the water. No one would come to its aid. Despite all their powers, hagsfiends feared one thing: water from the sea. The salt water saturated their oil-less wings making flight almost impossible. Siv watched as the hagsfiends tried to take off from the madly tilting ice fragment that was now awash with seawater. Three managed. Two others, however, skidded into the ocean. There was a searing howl as a hag’s port wing was grabbed by the water. Siv blinked to see more clearly who it was. Then silently prayed, Glaux, may it be Ygryk! Let it be Ygryk!

  CHAPTER TWO

  A Shadow King

  Outside the hollow, the world darkened as the shadow of the earth slid across the moon, but inside the air seemed to vibrate with a new luminosity as the shimmering egg rocked violently, shuddered one last time, and then split wide open. Grank gasped. It was Grank who had rescued the egg and brought it to this lonely island in the middle of the Bitter Sea. His assistant, Theo, looked over his shoulder in awe as the tiny featherless blob flopped from the shell and then tumbled onto the puffs of down they had prepared for him. Tufts plucked from both their breasts. Theo peered at the fluffy white under-feathers and wondered how the down from two such different owls, for he was a Great Horned and Grank was a Spotted, could look so similar.

  The chick’s eyes were still sealed shut. His head seemed enormous in comparison to his body. He looked no more a prince than any other newly hatched chick. Grank leaned over and bent very close to the chick whose body was still throbbing from the exertions of hatching. “Welcome, little one. Welcome, Hoole.” Grank thought he saw the head flinch. Then he detected a movement pulsing ever so slightly behind the eye slits. Then one eyelid popped open and a gleaming dark eye was revealed. It was dark, but not black like a Barn Owl’s, and not yet the rich amber of a Spotted Owl. That would come later.

  “Welcome, Hoole.” Theo bent forward and spoke in a very soft voice. Grank had warned Theo never to call Hoole “prince.” His identity must not be revealed to him until the time is right. Besides, Grank had thought, better he think of himself as a simple lad. It will make him work harder as a student.

  “The worms! Theo, do we have the worms?” Grank asked anxiously.

  “Of course, right here.”

  Theo fetched a worm and began to drop it by the little owl’s head.

  “Here, I’ll take that,” Grank said quickly. Taking it in his beak, he crouched down so that his shoulders and head were on the ground, then twisted his head as only an owl can, by flipping it nearly upside down so that the worm was almost touching Hoole’s tiny beak. Speaking out of the side of his own beak, he coaxed the chick. “First worm, Hoole, this is your First Worm ceremony. May Glaux bless you and make your gizzard strong.” The little owl opened his beak and took the worm. “Atta boy!” Grank boomed. Hoole shuddered and nearly dropped the worm. “Oops, sorry, lad.”

  Grank had never felt so much excitement as when the chick had taken that worm right from his beak and swallowed it headfirst. Traditionally, owls ate all of their prey headfirst. Of course, it was hard to tell with a worm which end was the head. “The lad’s a natural, an absolute natural.”

  A natural what? Theo wondered. A natural eater? But Theo did not begrudge his master’s enthusiasm. Theo would never begrudge Grank anything. He had learned more from Grank than he had ever learned from anyone else. Indeed, Grank was the only owl to have ever paid much attention to Theo. It was from Grank, who knew the secrets of fire, that Theo had first learned the possibilities of shaping metal into objects. Theo had a gift for the art of blacksmithing that was quite incredible. Until then, no one in the entire owl world had ever heard of this art of forging metals. Theo would someday be called the first blacksmith. His inventions would have an impact on the owl kingdoms as no other invention in the history of owls.

  Nothing grows as quickly as a baby owlet. One minute Hoole was having his First Worm ceremony, then the next his First Insect, and before it seemed possible, his First Meat-on-Bones! Owls were ceremonial creatures and took quite seriously the many occasions that marked the important passages in their lives.

  He was always hungry, this owlet. It seemed to both Grank and Theo that they were constantly out hunting prey for the little critter. Grank honestly did not know what he would have done without Theo. The young Great Horned Owl had had to cut back drastically the time spent at his forge. Grank called out to him now, and Theo looked up from his work.

  “Theo!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you fetch us another field mouse?”

  Theo sighed. How could the little fellow eat so much? This had to be his third field mouse this evening, and the moon wasn’t even up yet.

  “Maybe I’ll try for a vole, Grank. That might fill him up.”

  “Oh, a vole! A vole! I want a vole!” Theo heard Hoole’s little peeping voice. Then, the little bundle of fluff—for he had not yet shed his down—hopped out on the bra
nch and called to Theo below. “Theo, will you really get me a vole?”

  “I’ll try, Hoole.”

  “Back up there, lad,” Grank said. “We don’t want you taking a tumble off this branch. Your down won’t work for flying.”

  “When will my first flight feathers come in, Uncle Grank?”

  “Not until your fluff falls out. Your first molt.”

  “When will that happen?”

  “When you start to budge.”

  “Have I started yet?”

  “No. You’d feel it.”

  “Maybe not, Uncle Grank. Take a look please, please!”

  Grank sighed. “All right, now wave good-bye to Theo.”

  “Bye, Theo! Uncle Grank’s going to see if I’ve started to budge. Maybe by the time you get back I will have a flight feather.”

  “Oh, my!” Grank sighed wearily.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Theo’s Discovery

  Theo’s favorite hunting ground for finding voles was a patch in the very middle of the island where a large circle of birch trees grew. But as Theo approached, he sensed something different. And then he heard it—a strange chanting. He perched for several minutes behind the thick clusters of needles on an interior branch of a very bushy pine tree. Listening intently, he realized what it was he was hearing. Great Glaux, it’s the brothers! The Glauxian Brothers!

  For years, the Glauxian Brothers had lived in widely dispersed ice holes and caves on the H’rathghar glacier, but he supposed the fighting had gotten too intense there and they needed a retreat where they could be safely together. The brothers were renowned for their studious ways. When they were not chanting, they were studying or writing; when they were not studying or writing, they were silent—for the most part. They had taken vows of silence so they might contemplate more deeply the mysteries of the owl universe.

  Theo’s feelings about discovering them here on what he had come to think of as his and Grank’s island were conflicting ones. Theo admired the brothers greatly, and at one time had considered becoming one. Like the brothers, Theo did not believe in war. Furthermore, the brothers believed that the curse of the hagsfiends had been visited upon the N’yrthghar because the owls of this Northern Kingdom had lost their faith in Glaux and in reason. They believed that this loss of faith and reason had created a tear, a rip in the very air of the owl universe, and it was through this tear that these creatures of rage, superstition, and nachtmagen had gained their evil powers. It had pained Theo greatly when Grank had asked him, begged him to make that first pair of battle claws. He had only done so because Grank had revealed to him that the egg, whose well-being he was charged with, was that of King H’rath and Queen Siv.